


And Things Look Bad For Our Hero

by Jenny Lynne (jenny_lynne)



Category: Arrow (TV 2012) RPF, In Plain Sight, Supernatural RPF, The Closer
Genre: Alternate Universe - Assassins & Hitmen, Alternate Universe - Mob, Angst with a Hopeful Ending, BAMF Jared Padalecki, Bad Boy Jared, Established Relationship, Hitman Jared Padalecki, Hurt Jared Padalecki, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, M/M, Minor Character Death, New Orleans, Protective Jared Padalecki, Protective Jensen Ackles, Real Life Super Heroes (RLSH), Real-Life Superheroes, Secret Relationship, Superhero Jensen Ackles, Torture, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-06
Updated: 2017-09-06
Packaged: 2018-12-24 11:57:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 19,118
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12012234
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jenny_lynne/pseuds/Jenny%20Lynne
Summary: If Romeo & Juliet were a Mob Enforcer and a Superhero, this is how it might have gone.





	And Things Look Bad For Our Hero

**Author's Note:**

  * For [candygramme](https://archiveofourown.org/users/candygramme/gifts).



> [Candygramme](https://archiveofourown.org/users/candygramme/pseuds/candygramme) requested a story about an average Joe deciding to become a superhero a la _Kick Ass_. (I'm sorry I took so long.) This is not a retelling of _Kick Ass_. Instead, it is inspired by true stories of the mob, articles about the Real-Life Superhero movement, and nostalgia for my childhood in New Orleans.

#  Prologue

 

Below New Orleans, small unincorporated communities littered the Louisiana parishes.  Some were home to as many as 200, not including cats, dogs, and livestock; others as few as 10.  Hurricane Katrina wiped some of them off the map as if they'd never been.  Two years later, evidence of recovery, reestablishment, and revival, littered the remote areas and so did FEMA trailers. 

What the world saw as a tragic disaster of epic proportions, some saw as a new world of opportunities.  

No one even gave a second glance to the random trailers tucked into isolated spots. Two such trailers, along with a pair of Chevy 4x4 trucks and a rusty van, were obscured at the end of a dirt road through a wooded area just off highway 15 south of New Orleans.  Anyone who didn't know they were there wasn't likely to find them by accident.

One of the trailers had a chimney and despite the sultry September heat, wispy tendrils of smoke swirled slowly into the night sky.  A dim light trickled through the thin shades, illuminating the fire pit between the two trailers.  Completely dark, the other trailer showed no signs of life at that time of night.  Between them, a portable gasoline generator peeked out beneath a flame-retardant cloth over a layer of sound absorbing foam. Cables meandered from the generator to the trailers.

Lil' Roy stifled a yawn as he finished circling the camp site and rested his AK against his shoulder.  He debated texting his girl to see if she was up for a little sexting or doing another perimeter walk just to stay awake.

A tall man dressed entirely in black -- gloves, shoes, jeans, long-sleeve shirt under a Kevlar vest with six magazines of ammunition, and a single hole ski mask -- silently stepped out of the wooded area.  A suppressed Uzi sub-machine gun was slung over his back; he had an empty thigh holster and a tactical belt with a combat knife, plus two spare mags, one flash-bang, two frag grenades, a small flashlight, and a Swiss Army knife. The Beretta with silencer was already aimed at Lil' Roy's back.

Lil' Roy dug in his jeans' pocket for his phone with one hand and balanced the AK haphazardly with the other.  He never even had time to wonder about the soft, unfamiliar noise before the bullet sped through the back of his skull and exploded outward, destroying half his face as he fell.

The man kicked away the AK and verified the guard was dead.  He listened to the sounds coming from the two trailers.  When he was satisfied no one was the wiser, he policed his bullet, sliding it into his pocket.  

His footsteps were nearly silent as he crossed to the trailer with the lights on, the telltale odors of chemicals and sulfur clinging to it.  The sounds of Creedence Clearwater Revival drifted faintly through the door as he held the Beretta at the ready and softly knocked twice.

A full minute passed before a man wearing lab glasses and a half gas mask opened the door.  He looked more like a chemistry teacher than a meth lab cook.  Before he even had a chance to react, three bullets ripped into the center of his chest in a tight grouping.  The man in black caught him as he fell and lowered him to the ground to keep him from making too much noise before putting a final bullet in his head.  Listening for noise from the other trailer, he slid his gun into the holster.  

He took one of the frag grenades, pulled the pin, counted silently, and tossed it toward the stove in the trailer before closing the door.  At this point, his concern with making noise vanished. His immediate need became putting distance between himself and the portable meth lab.  As he ran, he slung the Uzi around so it fit comfortably in his large hands.  He fell to his knees as the lab went up in an explosion of chemicals and fire that shook the surrounding area.  

As he climbed to his feet, he turned back to the trailers.  The metal walls of the lab had torn and twisted apart, pieces and parts blown everywhere in the clearing and the surrounding trees.  Fire, metal, and plastic rained down.  He didn't have time to worry about such trivialities. 

Like angry wasps, the men, who'd been sleeping, swarmed out of the companion trailer.  Angry wasps with automatic weapons.  They were focused on the fire and brimstone of the explosion, unaware of lack of accidental causes.

He eviscerated them with the 9 mil from his Uzi before any of them had a chance to grasp what was happening.

He dragged their bodies and the body of Lil' Roy into the empty trailer and policed his bullets as best he could.  When he was done, he tossed the remaining frag grenade on top of them and returned into the woods from the direction he'd come.

~~~

Three fire trucks, two Louisiana State patrol cars, and three Plaquemines Parish police cars passed a black motorcycle with a rider dressed entirely in black leather and a black helmet on their way to a fire involving squatters and a backwoods meth lab.  No one thought anything of it.  It was a state highway after all.

~~~

#  Chapter 1

It's a little-known fact that the American mafia got its brutal start in late 1800's in New Orleans before branching out to cities like Chicago, New York, and Vegas.  After the 1960s when the New Orleans syndicate had its fingers on the triggers of at least three major assassinations, its influence practically died overnight.

The Rochester Mafia in New York had been dealt similar cards after a series of coups in the '70s that led to all out wars between the Bonanno family and families in Buffalo and Pittsburgh that eventually led to the F.B.I. stepping in to stop the bloodshed.  Now controlled again by the Valentis, they were looking for a way to re-establish themselves as a power in their own right.

Gianni Fallone was a Rochester capo who survived all the backstabbing and bloodshed by always managing to be on the winning side at the right moment. And he saw Hurricane Katrina for what it was -- an opportunity to make money coming and going -- and if there was anything the mob loved more than making money, it was making  _ easy _ money.  He convinced Joe Valenti to let him take a contingent of men down to New Orleans and set up shop.  Once they were entrenched and making money, they would kick it up to New York.

Eighteen months and Gianni was rolling in the dough and reveling in the power.  He was never going to be boss up north, but here he was boss and he had a whole organization paying tribute to him.  He was a king, living in a mansion on the outskirts of a golf course in Kenner, less than an hour from his businesses.  And what wonderful businesses they were!  It was like Vegas and Atlantic City all rolled into one.  There were so many people willing to eat, drink, gamble, and sin away their money and that was just the legal businesses!  Oh, the money was rolling in.  Yes, it was.

~~~

J.T. "Moose" Padalecki towered over most people.  It was probably one of the reasons he was so effective in getting shit done.  At 6'4", he was built like a brick house, all muscle.  He usually didn't need to make a request for whatever he'd been sent to collect more than once, and if he did?  Well, crowding into someone's space usually resolved any reservations a hold-out might have.

Not that he had any problem getting his hands dirty.  He'd been elbow deep in the grime plenty of times.  He was Gianni's pet enforcer and fixer.  Gianni sent him when someone under him got out of line.  He'd never be as well-liked as his father was, but he was respected, feared even.  When people saw him, they hoped he wasn't there for them.  No, he'd never be a capo or in the Administration, but he was okay with that.

Dressed in an expensive, tailored, black suit, just loose enough to hide the shoulder holster he comfortably wore, J.T. smoothed the wrinkles out of his crimson tie and dark grey vest as the au pair closed the front door behind him.  "Mr. Gianni is on the patio this morning, Mr. J.T."

"Thanks, Genevieve."  He nodded once in her direction before heading toward the back of the house.  He hated the humidity in Louisiana and didn't understand why Gianni spent so much time sitting out there watching men in outrageous pants stroll around playing with balls and long sticks.  It seemed like an odd sport for a die-hard homophobe.

He paused at the open French doors.  Gianni gave each of his daughters a kiss on the forehead.  They started toward J.T. while their impeccably dressed stepmother remained behind with her hand held out and whispering something that made Gianni roll his eyes.  

The girls stopped in front of him.  "Good morning, Jay-tee," Bianca sing-songed.  The eight year-old twisted restlessly back and forth to a rhythm only she could hear.  Her little black-and-white pleated uniform skirt twirled around her scraped up knees.

"Good-bye, Bee-an-ca," J.T. sing-songed in return.  Breaking his usually stoic expression, he winked at her and flashed her a dimpled smile, causing both girls to launch into a fit of giggles and run past him into the house.  Despite himself, he grinned, watching them, arms and legs seemingly askew in the way only children's running could make sense.

When he turned back to the scene on the patio, his expression had returned to stoically neutral.

Gianni pulled out his wallet and handed his wife a credit card.  Renata reached over and took a second one before following the girls on her stilettos.

"Bye, Jay-tee," Renata mocked as she slowly brushed past J.T., though she had plenty of room in the doorway.  

J.T. returned her inviting gaze with a glower.  "Renata."  He nodded once, but didn't turn to watch her leave.

Gianni stared after her with narrowed eyes for a moment before turning to him.  "J.T., join me for some coffee."  It was never a question.

J.T. nodded and began to fix himself a cup from the cart on the patio.  Gianni turned on the outdoor stereo as J.T. began to arrange himself in a chair at the patio table.  He set the ornate coffee cup on the tabletop and reached into the breast pocket inside his suit jacket.  He withdrew an envelope about a half an inch thick, placed it on the glass table, and pushed it across with two long, slender fingers.

Gianni grinned.  He looked practically giddy even.  "Is this the Giroux Construction job?"

J.T. nodded and took a sip of his coffee.

"Excellent."  He didn't ask what J.T. did to get the owner to finally understand how important the kind of insurance they were offering was.  As long as J.T. got the job done -- that was all that mattered to him.

"Oh, good, you're both here," Vince Benetti stalked onto the patio and immediately began making himself a cup of coffee.

Gianni sat up in his chair.  "I can see you're upset, but that's no excuse for bad manners, Vince."

Vince paused and turned to face them, carafe in one hand, coffee cup in the other.   "What?  You were gonna tell me to get a cup anyway-"  he shrugged.

J.T. shook his head minutely, but Vince didn't appear to get the hint.

Gianni turned to J.T.  "I swear to God, I'm going to send every last one of them to charm school.  My old man used to say what separates us from the animals is manners and class.  Vince, are you a fucking animal?"

J.T. could see by Vince's expression he was trying to determine if it was a trick question.

"No?"

"You're not sure?" Gianni asked.

"No.  I mean, y-yes, I'm s-sure.  I'm not a fucking animal,"  Vince stammered.

"Then fucking put down the coffee and wait until you're invited."

Vince put both the carafe and the cup back on the cart and followed Gianni's gestures back to the door.

Gianni picked up the envelope and slid it into a pocket of his jacket.  "Thank you, J.T.  I appreciate this.  Do you mind escorting Miss McCoy to dinner tonight?"

"Antoine's?" J.T. asked.

"At 8p.m.,"  Gianni replied.

"It would be my pleasure, sir."

Gianni leered.  "As long as you understand it's not your pleasure she's there for."

"Never, sir."  J.T. kept a straight face.  He'd played this game plenty of times.  Gianni liked to think he was old school mafia, and old school mafia was never seen in public with their mistresses without a cover, usually a soldier on their crew.  

He'd even pretended to date Renata three years ago, though she'd completely never understood that his part was all pretend.

Gianni pretended to notice Vince.  "Vince!  What a surprise.  Come sit down and tell us what brings you here." 

J.T. could see the exasperation in Vince' expression.  Vince was not part of the New York contingent, definitely not a made man, and he hadn't learned to have the kind of sang-froid someone in this line of work needed.

Vince eased into a chair.  "Don't shoot the messenger, okay?"  He glanced uneasily at J.T.

J.T. cocked an eyebrow.  Not out here with golfers strolling around wild where they might be startled by the commotion.  That would get messy.  He was too careful for that.

Gianni looked like he was losing his patience.  "You got the one chunk of the business guaranteed to bring money in.  You just have to sit back and watch it roll in.  If you're here to make some excuse why you don't have your contribution, you'll wish I let Moose handle you." He only referred to J.T. as Moose when he wanted to remind people J.T. was his enforcer.

"No!  No, nothing like that.  The lab in Plaquemines blew up.  It was just on the news," Vince said.

"What?  What happened?"  Gianni stood and headed into the house.  "Damnit!"

While Vince hurried behind like an attention-starved puppy, J.T. followed at a leisurely pace.  "It's okay, right?  Ray plans for accidents like that.  We'll just get another trailer and we're cooking again by morning, right?" J.T. said matter-of-factly.  He'd had that exact conversation with Gianni's congsligere a year ago when Gianni decided he wanted to stop relying on outsiders to manufacturer their drug supply.

Gianni stood in the den with the remote control, trying to find a channel showing local news.

Vince looked right at J.T. and shook his head.  "I got a guy in the Plaquemines Parish P.D. who said it was both trailers."

"Both?  What'd they do?  Set them up next to each other?" J.T. replied.

Gianni was listening to their conversation now instead of paying attention to the television.

Vince shrugged.

"Well, fuck!"  Gianni tossed the remote at Vince.  He missed, but Vince flinched anyway.  "Did you even go out there to see what those morons were doing?"

Vince shook his head.  "Jimmy Fingers makes a supply run out there every two weeks.  He brings the product to the place and makes a report to me at the bar."

"And you ain't never asked if they know what they're doing up there?" Gianni's face was turning a dark shade of red.  J.T. wasn't sure it was healthy for a man his age.

"I figured they knew what they were doing.  We hired them away from another gang a year ago and up until now, everything's been fine."

"You figured?  You figured. He figured, Moose,"  Gianni paced the room. He stopped and stared through the picture window at the golf course.  The only sound for five minutes was the second hand ticking away on the clock on the mantle.  Without turning around, in a much calmer voice, Gianni said, "Vince, I want you to go make arrangements to get another lab set up and running.  J.T., you go with him.  If he doesn't have it done in 48-hours… put a bullet in him."

"Fuck!  Gianni-" Vince begged.

"That's Mr. Fallone to you," J.T. stated calmly.  He grabbed Vince's bicep and led him out of the house.  "Come on, you don't want to waste your time.  Clock is ticking."

 

#  Chapter 2

 

Growing up on the Evans' Double E Ranch outside of Richardson, TX, Jensen Ackles and his friends relied on imagination to fuel their fun more often than not.  While his buddy Tommy almost always wanted to play Superman, even when they were playing  _ Battlestar Galactica _ , Mike didn't care as long as he got to play a bad guy.  However, he and his best friend Chris, whose father his father worked for, often found themselves at odds, arguing over who got to be Captain America or Han Solo.  If truth be told, they still had that argument at least twice a year -- once for ComicCon and once for DragonCon.

Jensen and Chris might have lost touch with Tommy and Mike over the years, but not the two of them.  They were blood brothers -- even if they could never agree which one was the sidekick.  Jensen argued that since he was the best-selling author and Chris was merely his editor and agent, Chris was  _ his _ sidekick; meanwhile, Chris argued that if it weren't for him, Jensen's manuscript would still be at the bottom of a pile in someone's inbox, Jensen was clearly the sidekick minion.

~~~

A few years back, around the time Jensen was in the final stages of publishing his first novel  _ The Mutant Hunter _ , Chris forwarded him an article about some guy in Seattle running around in yellow and red latex making noise about fighting crime.  His first thought was ‘ _ What a fruitcake!’ _ but his inner child was full of admiration.  Yeah, that kid who’d run around the chicken coup with a kitchen towel cape and pretending he could fly with his arms flung forward and his legs straight behind him, belly down on the rusty swing set, that kid was mighty impressed someone finally had the guts to get out there and  _ be _ a superhero.

But, it turned out the guy really was kind of a fruitcake.  The police spent more time hauling his ass in for causing trouble than he spent actually helping anyone.  

Besides, with Chris' genius PR skills, Jensen’s book not only hit the stores but it hit  _ The New York Times _ Best-Seller List and Jensen didn’t have time to think about crazy people in latex anymore.

While he was working on  _ The Lost Hunter _ though, another guy popped up in the Mid-West.  This one looked like he’d taped together his costume from items bought at a dollar store.  He didn't exactly appear to be a fruitcake.  He actually helped raise awareness in his community and assisted in the capture of a serial groper who’d eluded the police for a year.

Jensen’s inner child egged him on, pushing him to look into this new phenomenon.  He and Chris discovered there were more than just the two of them.  There were guys (and gals) like them popping up all over the country, the world even.  Sure, there was a 50-50 chance they were fruitcakes, but the thought that there were also real people out there actually being real superheroes thrilled him.

And, yeah, okay, they weren’t technically  _ super _ .  Chris argued that to be  _ super _ they’d probably have to be aliens or mutants or in some lab accident, but then again, Hawkeye and Black Widow weren’t any of those things and they held their own with The Avengers, didn’t they?  Green Arrow and Batman were part of The Justice League and they were just well-trained fighting billionaires with gadgets.  It all depended on how literal your definition of  _ superhero _ was.

What Jensen learned, the more he dug, was that there was a whole subculture of these costumed crime fighters.  They called themselves  _ Real Life Superheroes _ .  He guessed that was so people wouldn’t get them confused with all the fictional ones running around.

By the time he’d finished with the book tour for  _ The Lost Hunter _ and had presented Chris with the outline for  _ The Dream Hunter _ , the final book in the trilogy, he knew what he wanted to write next and Chris, being the best friend that he was, jumped at the chance for at least one of them to "live the dream."

~~~

The New Orleans Collective was one of only three superhero teams recognized by the U.S. government. Okay, not the kind of superhero team that got called out for giant mutant lizards trampling through cities or robot invasions.  They held a non-profit status for all their community service and fundraising work in and around the city of New Orleans.  From his research, Jensen gathered they had a small cult following and a tentative alliance with the N.O.P.D.  He’d chosen them to be the focus of his year-long book research-by-immersion because they appeared to be the most credible and organized. More importantly they didn’t appear to be a collection of fruitcakes.  At least none of them was running around in brightly colored spandex with capes and trying to leap off tall buildings – really, Captain Heroic tried to do that only two months back and it didn’t turn out well for him or the pink camo Hummer he landed on.

There was no super-secret basement with a holodeck training room underneath the converted run-down plantation house.  Of course there wasn't.  This was New Orleans.  Basements were the equivalent of underground swimming pools.

~~~

Jensen had no idea what he was really getting himself into until he was dressed in the all black Kevlar uniform with half his face covered and a code name. He’d thought the whole thing was kind of silly and the N.O.C. were melodramatic nerds who’d never grown up until he’d been on patrol with them a few times.

Their patrols ranged from actually driving around the city keeping a watch out for criminal activity and people in danger to cruising the bar scene and The French Quarter to escort gaggles of girls to their cars or arrange rides for drunk tourists. Most of their work was at night.

His first night in The French Quarter, a couple of uniformed police stopped them.

“This the new guy?” a chunky man a few years older than him asked. He had dark, slightly greying hair with a matching scruffy beard. His name tag above his badge said: “J. Morgan.”

Sentinel – Stephen, the team leader – nodded. He had dark blond hair and blue eyes. When he wasn’t playing superhero, he was a librarian for Jefferson Parish.  

Red – Danni, team medic – said, “Don’t worry, Morgan; he’s legit. Got his temp reg and everything.” RLS had to be registered in New Orleans. It was as much for their protection as anyone else’s. Can’t have just anyone running around in superhero costumes doing good. Plus, if something happened to them, they’d need some sort of way to I.D. the body and there weren’t a lot of pockets to carry a wallet in those costumes.

Morgan studied him before jabbing a finger at him. He said, “Fine but let me warn you, kid. Don’t be going maverick trying to be a hero and getting yourself into real trouble, alright? This here city has real dangers and I’m not going to sympathize if you do something stupid that gets you dead. You understand me?”

Jensen nodded.

“What’s that?” Morgan said.

“Yes, sir,” Jensen said. Clearly there were some unresolved issues between the N.O.C. and the N.O.P.D.

“Anyway,” said the other officer, a tall blond woman about 10 years younger than her partner. “Stay out of the Projects and the Ninth Ward, okay?” Her name tag said “K. Cassidy.”

“We usually do,” Stephen said. That was part of their agreement with the city. Despite the fact that most of them were actually black belts or similar in something, they all were aware they’d most likely be shot in those areas if they showed up in their uniforms. Heck, the police didn’t even like going down there.

“Yeah, well, make an extra-special effort,” Cassidy said. “There’s a gang war brewing.”

“Maybe we’ll get lucky and they’ll kill each other off,” Morgan said.

Stephen and Danni frowned at the older officer and Jensen was relieved they felt the same way. At the very least it was inappropriate to wish for more violence.

“Right…well, we’ll let you get back to work,” Danni said. “Come on, Danger Dude.” She grabbed Jensen’s hand and led the way toward Bourbon Street. She had long reddish brown hair and brown eyes. However, she wore a bright orange-red bob wig for patrol. She had trained as a paramedic but ended up as a fortune teller in Jackson Square. 

“You know that’s not my code name, right?” Jensen replied with a hint of annoyance.

“Yeah, yeah,” she dismissed.

Stephen fell into step next to him. “Don’t mind them, they let their badges and their guns go to their egos.”

“They think we get in the way rather than helping them do their job,” Danni added. “Really we’re just stepping up to ease their workload.”

Jensen nodded. “They see it more as infringing on their space.”

“Exactly,” Stephen said.

They walked the length of Bourbon. The idea was to familiarize Jensen with what were the hot spots, what to watch out for, and where to avoid. One place to avoid was “Deja View,” a strip club near the end of the famous street. They paused two doors down so Stephen could point it out.

Deja View looked classier than most of the strip clubs on Bourbon. It didn’t have gaudy décor outside and it didn’t have someone in the doorway trying to lure unsuspecting tourists in. It did have a group of well-dressed men lurking nearby.

“Deja View is operated by the local mob,” Stephen said in as hushed a voice as he could and still be heard by Jensen.

“No one’s proven that, but it’s owned by Gianni Fallone’s brother-in-law and they came down from New York a few years ago and started buying up businesses,” Danni added.

Jensen frowned. He had lived in New York since his first book went  _ New York  _ Times Best Seller. “Just because they’re from New York—”

“No, everyone knows.” Stephen shook his head. “Cassidy says they just can’t prove anything.”

As they stood watching, a tall man in a three-piece suit stepped outside and lit a cigarette. He spoke to the other men hanging around. One walked away in the opposite direction, into the less well-lit part of the street. All but two of the others went inside the strip club. The door opened and out came a petite brunette in a low-cut, short-length little – and really, it was tiny – black dress. She looked far too bubbly for Jensen’s taste, but then she wasn’t his type at all – too many boobs, not enough—

The brunette slid her arm through cigarette smoking man’s arm and the two began to walk. When they were two feet away, cigarette smoking man turned his head toward Jensen. Their eyes met and Jensen felt like the wind had been knocked out of him. He opened his mouth to – well, he wasn’t sure what he was going to do –

Surprise flickered across face of the man Jensen knew as Sam. Then he shook his head so minutely if Jensen wasn’t watching so closely he would have missed it. The brunette was too busy chatting away to notice anyway.

“That’s Sandra McCoy; she a stripper there. Rumor has it she’s Fallone’s mistress,” Stephen said, oblivious.

Danni wasn’t however. When Jensen turned back toward her, she gave him a look that said they’d be talking about it later.

But Jensen didn’t want to talk about it. He didn’t know what he would say. Or what he should say.

The thing is Jensen knew every inch of Sam, every naked inch. The taste of his skin, the smell of his shampoo, the feel of every muscle and scar – scars he’s not supposed to ask about. Just like he’s never asked Sam’s last name or his phone number. He knows Sam is gorgeous from his chestnut hair to his hazel eyes to his pink, kissable lips. Jensen knew Sam had secrets, of course. He seemed to need Jensen to ignore them, to leave them at the door, whether it was Jensen’s apartment or a hotel. He always arrived pent up and wound tight and all of that seemed to melt away in the short time they had together. Jensen never knew when or how long, but a few times a year, 

They’d met in the airport in New York City not long after Jensen moved there. A one night stand became a week. After that, Sam would call every time he came to New York and Jensen would be there, ready to not talk about their lives outside of their time together, ready to give in to everything Sam wanted and needed. Ready for the best sex he’d ever had.

Jensen was having trouble reconciling the Sam he knew with the idea that Sam was patronizing a mobster’s strip club, making nice with mobster thugs, and walking with a mobster’s supposed girlfriend. None of it fit. He wanted to run up to Sam and demand to know but he had the sense to know that’d be a very bad idea.

~~~

J.T. stepped out of the strip club and took a deep breath. Even the stink of Bourbon was better than the stench of any strip club, even one as upscale at Deja View. He needed a cigarette if he was going to deal with Sandy tonight. He could just fit one in between here and Antoine’s.

He pulled the pack out of his pocket as he gave instructions to Mickey to check on Vince’s progress and express the importance of expediency. He really hated punishing people for pure stupidity, but Vince was definitely asking for it. Then he told the others to move their lurking inside. Only Big Tony and Fat Joey stayed outside to man the doors.

He barely had time to take a few relaxing drags before the chatterbox was next to him, running her hand down his arm salaciously. What was it with Gianni’s girlfriends and touching him? Didn’t they realize that even if he was interested in them, he wouldn’t dare. That’d be a death sentence.

She was jabbering about some new jewelry Gianni had just bought her as they began walking toward the Jackson Square restaurant when it happened. He was doing due diligence, scanning the crowd for any possible danger, when J.T. saw him. He’d know those eyes, those lips, those bowed legs, anywhere.

Jensen.

Shit.

What the fuck was he doing here? And what was he doing with those RLS do-gooders? That was nerdy even for Jensen.

Jensen. Innocent, good natured Jensen. The only person he knew without an agenda, who let him be himself, who never asked questions. Jensen who didn’t know about the dark side of his life, who’d never talk to him again if he knew who J.T. really was, what he really did, the people he really worked for and with.

Jensen couldn’t be here.

When J.T. realized Jensen recognized him, might say something, he shook his head as subtly as possible. Sandy didn’t even notice. She was too busy listening to the sound of her own voice.

God, if anyone found out about Jensen, they’d both be in danger. He had to get Jensen out of New Orleans.

 

#  Chapter 3

 

Without his N.O.C. uniform, Jensen went back to Bourbon Street in the daylight a couple of times under the guise of visiting Danni in nearby Jackson Square or visiting historic sites. He didn’t see Sam outside of Deja View any of those times and he wasn’t going to risk going inside. If it was a mob establishment, it was possible his relationship with Sam could endanger him. The mob was old fashioned in their anti-homosexual views. Members, especially made men, were expected to be manly men and gays were not considered manly in their eyes. Jensen knew this from the last few days of research.

On the fourth day after no sign of Sam, he was on his way to meet Danni and Felicia (otherwise known as Dex, the N.O.C. dispatcher and hacker) for lunch. Danni had interrogated him quite thoroughly and Jensen had denied everything, but Felicia had guessed that Jensen and the mystery man had some torrid past romance that left Jensen brokenhearted.  At least Stephen and Osric (Dragon, the team’s trainer and main fighter) remained uninterested and oblivious. He could always count on the hetrosexual men to prefer not to know the intimate details of some other man’s love life.

Someone yanked him into one of the Quarter’s charming, easily overlooked courtyard nooks. He was pushed up against the brick wall just out of view of the street. Jensen’s heart pounded. He struggled to break free. He opened his mouth to call for help.

A large hand closed over his mouth as a large body crowded him further, trapping him. “Quiet,” his attacker breathed close to his ear.

Jensen knew that voice. 

Sam.

He stopped struggling.

Sam whispered, “If I let go, do you promise not to call out?”

Jensen nodded.

Sam dropped his hand and stepped back but only enough that they were a breath away. “What are you doing here?” Sam demanded.

“I could ask you the same thing.” Sam looked much more uptight than usual. However, he looked stunning in khakis and tailored suit jacket. He’d always arrived at Jensen’s door in blue jeans and a button up shirt that never stayed on long.

Sam’s eyes narrowed. “I asked first.”

“Research.”

“On?”

“RLS. For my book.”

Sam’s face was unreadable. “You have to leave,” Sam said without segue.

“Why? Am I interfering with your secret identity?” The irony of that statement was not lost on Jensen.

“It’s not safe here. Please, Jensen, you have to go back to New York.”

“The whole reason I’m here is ‘cuz it’s not safe.”

“This isn’t a game, Jensen. I’m not talking about dress-up and play danger.”

“I get it.”

“Do you?”

Jensen bit his bottom lip. “Mostly..I get the danger part, but..Are you…do you…work for the mob?”

Sam took another step back. His face though was stoic. “I can’t tell you about this part of my life.”

“Can’t or won’t?” Jensen knew he was pushing at their unspoken boundaries.

“Both. I need you not to be tainted by my life here.” 

Jensen let go some of his frustration. “I won’t ask any questions. I promise.” 

“I won’t answer any anyway.”

Jensen pulled Sam in and kissed him hard, expressing everything he wished he could say but didn’t dare.

Sam grabbed his biceps and crowded him back into the brick wall. He deepened the kiss, fighting for control of it, thrusting his tongue into Jensen’s mouth in and out suggestively.

Jensen clutched Sam to him, gripping his back muscles as if hanging on for dear life. It was all he could do not to wrap his legs around Sam’s waist right there like a horny teenager.

It had been months and while Jensen had indulged with other lovers, Sam was the one he could never resist.

“Let’s go someplace,” Jensen whispered after he broke the kiss.

Sam rested his head against Jensen’s shoulder. After a few seconds, he softly said, “I shouldn’t. I—If we get caught—”

“We won’t.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Sam…”

Sam stiffened for a moment. Then he pulled away. He sighed as if resigned. “Do you know where the La Mirage Motel is on Jeff Highway?”

Jensen shook his head. “I can find it.”

“Gimme two hours. I’ll text you the room.”

Jensen wanted to fist pump in triumph but he didn’t want to scare off the already skittish Sam. Instead he leaned in and kissed his promise to be there into Sam’s already swollen lips. “Alright.”

~~~

J.T. knew this was a bad, bad idea. 

He’d been so careful up until now. Two separate lives miles apart.  As long as Jensen didn’t know who he really was, he could pretend for a while to be someone normal who never grew up in the mob, who never got dirty for the mob. He knew how to play his role well and most of the time it didn’t bother him, but when it did, there was Jensen.

Gorgeous, sexy, funny, smart Jensen. Jensen who never asked questions and yet knew the one secret no one else knew. The one secret he never gave voice to. Jensen who never looked at him with fear. Jensen who didn’t know his real name. Jensen who was playing dress up with the N.O.C., that group of do-gooders just asking for trouble to rain down on them if they stuck their ridiculous noses in the wrong place.

Such a bad idea.

Yet, he paid a nondescript slime ball of a man cash for a rent-by-the-hour room and an extra $100 for his silence. Then he removed his jacket and shoulder holster and rolled up his sleeves, while he waited in room number 5 for the knock at the door.

He should leave. End it now. Protect them both while he still could.

But he could feel the anticipation building inside him along with the desperation and the worry. If he closed his eyes though, he could picture those green eyes devouring him; he could remember the taste of the abundance of freckles scattered all over Jensen’s skin; he could smell the clean scent of Jensen’s soap clinging to him. He could remember how good it felt to touch Jensen, to put his hands all over that perfect, beautiful body, to feel the desire and feed it, fuel it, tease it. He could recall every moment fulfilling both their fantasies, releasing their need. 

He lived for those fleeting moments.

~~~

Jensen knew this was a bad idea. Of course he did. Sam was part of the mob. Who knew what he did for them? Whatever it was, it couldn’t be good. He couldn’t be a good guy. Not really.

Yet, Sam had never been threatening to him. Sure, Jensen knew he had secrets. Jensen knew he had a whole other life he never spoke about. He would never have guessed mobster. In the closet? Sure. Married? Maybe. Mobster? Nope.

Yet, he was still drawn to Sam. Maybe part of him was turned on that Sam was a bad boy, a true blue bad boy. All he had to do was convince himself that he was okay with the secrets and mystery. It hadn’t been all that hard before. Though he’d been a bit more oblivious before.

He should really just turn around and leave.

But the door opened and Sam’s gaze heatedly crawled up his body and Jensen momentarily forgot the rest of the world

As soon as the door closed behind them, Sam was crowding him against the door, hands on either side of his head. For a moment Sam just studied his face, eyes flickering from Jensen’s eyes to his lips. Then he slotted his mouth over Jensen’s and they were kissing hungrily.

Jensen worked at untucking Sam’s shirt, loving the feel of his toned abs underneath. He couldn’t wait to get his hands on Sam’s warm skin. 

As if inspired by Jensen’s actions, Sam pushed Jensen’s T-shirt up and shoved his hands under it, running his fingers up and down Jensen’s sides, letting the pad of his thumb brush one nipple.

Jensen sucked in a breath and he could feel Sam smirk against his lips. 

“I love the noises you make,” Sam whispered against his ear causing Jensen to shiver.

“I love what you do to make me make them,” Jensen replied. He started anxiously unbuttoning Sam’s shirt. He wanted to do more than touch. He wanted to see.

Sam got on board and stripped out of his shirt while Jensen pulled his over his head. Then they were bare chest to bare chest, indulging in open, dirty, tantalizing kisses, trying to maneuver to the bed without separating. Finally, with a frustrated growl, Sam picked him up and wrapped Jensen’s legs around his waist. They kissed all the way to the bed. Then Sam tumbled onto the mattress twisting just enough so Jensen wasn’t trapped under his weight.

For a while all they did was kiss, and touch, and grind, and moan until the kissing and touching and grinding became frenzied. Sam make quick work of the rest of their clothes, content to let Jensen watch with heated eyes. Before he dropped his own pants, he pulled a couple of pocket packages of lube and several wrapped condoms to toss on the bed next to Jensen.

Jensen let his eyes devour Sam, every proportionate inch. He was huge all over. Jensen hummed happily in the back of his throat just thinking about what was coming.

~~~

Later, entwined so it was hard to tell where one started and where one stopped, they kissed lazily.

J.T. pulled back and studied Jensen’s satiated expression. He was going to miss this, miss seeing Jensen laid out beneath him, miss the sounds Jensen made when he was fucking him, sucking him, kissing him, touching him. He was going to miss the quiet moments too -- having breakfast, talking about nothing, walking in the park -- all those things normal people do without realizing how normal they are. He was going to miss every second of it.

J.T. took Jensen’s face in his hands and kissed him deeply before he started to sit up. Jensen grabbed at him to pull him back.

“Jensen,” J.T. sighed. “I have to get back.” J.T. forced himself not to flinch at the disappointment on Jensen’s frowning face.

“When am I going to see you again?”

J.T. could usually hide his emotions. It’s one thing that made him good at his day job. However, he was having trouble with Jensen here. All the more reason he had to get Jensen away from here, from him. “I don’t think that’d be a good idea. It’s too dangerous. You need to go home.”

“I thought we’d settled all that.” Jensen reluctantly pulled himself out of bed.

“No, you side-tracked the conversation.” J.T. busied himself with gathering his scattered clothes.

“Well, you were being unusually stubborn.” He took his jeans from J.T.’s outstretched hand, let his fingers brush J.T.’s.

“Maybe that’s the real me.” J.T. pulled his pants on quickly. He had to get out of here before he did anything else stupid.

“I don’t believe that.” Jensen pulled his own pants on much more slowly.

“Then you’re very naïve. All the more reason you need to go.” J.T. slipped into his shirt and began working the buttons.

“I am not naïve! You’re secretive.” Jensen buttoned his jeans and angrily worked his belt buckle.

J.T. huffed. “You knew that already.”

“Well, we wouldn’t be having this argument if you’d given me some sort of clue like I don’t know, ‘Jensen, I work with the mob and maybe you shouldn’t travel to New Orleans any time soon.’”

J.T. glared at him. He was being absurd. “The whole point of not telling you anything about my real life was to protect you.”

“You mean, protect you, don’t you?” Jensen yanked his T-Shirt over his head.

J.T. made a frustrated sound as he tucked in his shirt. “Both, but I can hold my own. You’re a writer, not Batman. This isn’t one of your novels, Jensen. The good guys don't always triumph over evil.”

"You think I can't tell reality from fiction?" Jensen sounded hurt.

J.T. sighed dropping his chin to his chest. When he looked up, he said, "I think you're idealistic." It's one of the things he liked about Jensen. He didn't want that ruined. "I think you're running around with the N.O.C. playing superhero without knowing what the risks really are. I doubt they do either."

"They're not out there doing cosplay, Sam. They take their jobs seriously." Jensen swiped his shoes and socks from the corner they'd been tossed and sat down to put them on.

"I don't doubt it, but that's the problem. The N.O.C. is a publicity stunt, something to bring more tourists in. That's why they're not allowed where the serious crimes occur. Because it would look really bad for the city if one of them got killed sticking their nose in where they don't belong."

"That's...not true." He sounded unsure.

J.T. suspected their fearless leader had been particularly thorough in explaining where they could and couldn't go. Stephen seemed uptight enough to be strict about those things and as far as he could tell. In some way, he was grateful for that.

"Tell me you haven't been told what areas not to go in and that when you're in the Quarter you aren't stopped 50 times so people could take selfies with Sentinel or you or especially Red?" J.T. demanded, pulling his own dress shoes on.

Jensen opened his mouth as if to deny it, but he shut it again.

J.T. nodded. "Right." J.T. hesitated near his jacket and holster, reluctant for Jensen to see how real that part of his life was. At the moment, it was all speculation and imagination. The moment it became real, Jensen would never look at him the same way. Jensen was the only person in the world whose opinion mattered in any way to him. Sure Fallone's opinion counted in that, if J.T. didn't stay in his good favor, someone like himself could show up at his door. But Jensen was different, he lived outside of J.T.'s world and he was good and pure and everything J.T. wasn't and he wanted to allow Jensen's illusion of him to continue for a little while longer.

"How do you know so much about the N.O.C. anyway?" Jensen grumbled as he stood facing J.T. down.

"It's my job to know what's going on in the city that could affect my boss- My boss' business." He compromised by wrapping his jacket around the gun holster and hanging it casually over his arm.

"Well, you're doing a poor job then. I was in the city for 2 weeks before you noticed."

A small frown flashed briefly across J.T.'s face before he regained his composure. "And the person responsible has been handled."

Jensen looked startled.

"Not like you're thinking." J.T. mentally rolled his eyes.

"You have no idea what I'm thinking."

"I can guess. Your imagination is already running wild now that you think you know all of my secrets."

"Well, if you told me, I wouldn't be imagining the worst."

J.T. stepped in close. "Stay away from me, Jensen. The worst you can imagine isn't even close to my reality." He stalked to the door.

"Sam--"

"Go home, Jensen." With that, J.T. jerked the door open and stepped out into the humid air that clung to everything night and day in New Orleans. It only added to his agitation. He needed to blow off some steam.

#  Chapter 4

 

Jensen did go home. Well, he went back to N.O.C. headquarters where he had a room. Felicia and Danni grilled him about his whereabouts since he'd practically run out on their lunch. He would only say that he'd had to meet an old friend.

"I don't believe you," Danni folded her arms across her chest and glared at him.

Felicia leaned in close and sniffed him. She was also a redhead but where Danni was more auburn, Felicia was true red.

"Are you sniffing me?" Jensen said.

"You smell like sex," the petite hacker proclaimed. "He smells like sex."

Danni leaned in and took a sniff too. "He does!" Her expression turned to one of glee. "Old friend, my ass!"

"He  _ is _ an old friend," Jensen insisted. Though at the moment, he wasn't even sure they were still lovers.

"Old lover, you mean," Danni replied.

"Is it that guy y'all saw with Fallone's guys?" Felicia asked almost accusingly.

"Guys, I am so not talking to you about this," Jensen dismissed.

"Oh, you will." Danni gave him a wicked grin. "We'll wear you down."

"Vee have vays off making you talk," Felicia grinned.

Jensen narrowed his eyes at them and folded his arms across his chest in defiance. 

He was in no mood to discuss Sam between all of Sam's secrets and the way Sam had left things. Their argument didn't sit well with him. He couldn't understand how hot and cold Sam was. Sam was definitely a Jekyll and Hyde this afternoon. He wanted to lock the man in a room and wheedle everything out of him, despite what he promised. His curiosity was aching for information.  

Plus, Sam's last remarks --  _ Stay away from me, Jensen. The worst you can imagine isn't even close to my reality. _ \-- bothered him. Was it a warning or a confession? Sam hadn't seemed happy about it, but he hadn't been too terribly upset other than he wanted Jensen far away from his reality. On one hand, Jensen was touched that Sam wanted to protect him; on the other, he was pissed that Sam thought he could demand Jensen do what he wanted.

"Hey, Jensen, can I borrow you for a sec?" Stephen interrupted -- both the conversation and Jensen's worrying thoughts.

"Yes! Absolutely! Anything to stop this interrogation." Jensen almost hugged the younger man, but he didn't think Stephen would appreciate it. He was too straight laced.

"Want us to leave?" Felicia asked.

Stephen shook his head. "It's not top secret."

Jensen quirked an eyebrow. 

"The -uh- library does some small fundraisers through the year but they do one big, black-tie one every September. We usually have a local author as the guest of honor but Barrowman backed out -- apparently he'd rather be at an award ceremony in Los Angeles."

Jensen nodded to indicate Stephen should continue.

"I know it's late notice, but you're already in town, and--"

"I'll do it." Jensen smiled. It wasn't his favorite thing but he'd had plenty of practice schmoozing with strangers at book signings and sci-fi conventions. "It's the least I can do."

"The least you could do is nothing," Felicia pointed out.

Stephen rolled his eyes. "Thank you, Jensen. I'll let them know." He gave Jensen's shoulder a squeeze before he left the room.

"Oh, this'll be exciting!" Danni clapped her hands. "Everyone always looks so shiny at the fundraiser. I bet you clean up good."

Jensen rolled his eyes.

"And you can invite your 'old friend'," Danni said.

Jensen shook his head adamantly. "No," he said with a tone of finality.

"Oh, are you not out?" Danni asked, genuinely curious. "I thought for sure anyone who met you-"

"I'm out, okay?" Jensen interrupted. "I just don't think that's a good idea."

"'Cuz he's one of Fallone's guys, right?" Felicia said.

"Oh, duh!" Danni slapped her own forehead. "Sorry. That was dumb."

Jensen couldn't decide if he was annoyed at their interference or amused by their banter.

"Look, I don't want to talk about it." He stalked off to his room.

 

#  Chapter 5

 

Ant-Dawg, known to his mother as Antony, was kind of laid back for the enforcer of The First Knight's head drug dealer. His job was pretty simple -- look menacing and alert the Insane Wayne and his minions of possible trouble. Sure he'd participated in some unsavory tasks he wouldn't tell his mother about but he basically considered himself a good guy.

The man in black disagreed.

A quick snap of the neck from behind and Ant-Dawg crumpled. The man in black didn't bother to police his bullets this time. He was using a silenced Smith & Wesson 9mm that could be tracked back to several crimes committed by the Sin City Blood Devils. The Devils were the main rival of The First Knights, who had last night upped the stakes by shooting the brother of the Devil's leader.

He knocked once, waited five seconds, and knocked twice in quick succession. The door opened less than 30 seconds later. 

Peewee, known in confession as Lukas, looked surprised. "You. What are you doing here? Where's-"

Peewee didn't have time to answer as he was shoved back inside and spun so Peewee was his shield. The other two in the room reacted just as quickly -- one picking up his gun from the coffee table and knocking more than a handful of dime bags to the floor, and one grabbing a knife out of his boot.

The man in black shoved Peewee toward the one with the knife and shot the one with the gun through the forehead even as he drew a second Smith & Wesson from his shoulder holster, this time a 0.40 and traceable to the Devils. Peewee and the one with the knife were untangling, which gave him long enough to shoot them both. 

The thought that most low-level criminals were stupid passed quickly through his head.

He slid the 0.40 back into its holster and palmed the pay-as-you-go phone on the table. He dialed 9-1-1 but didn't press the green "call" button. Instead, he crept quietly down the hall to Insane Wayne's bedroom. The man in black nudged the door open just enough to see Wayne and his current underaged girl, both fast asleep. Wayne didn't indulge in the coke and heroin that was stored in the living room and guest room, but he did drink heavily; however, he kept his girls quite drugged up. So neither had woken in the commotion.

The man in black pushed just the barrel of the gun into the room, carefully aiming at Insane Wayne and not the girl and carefully keeping out of her view should she, when she, woke up. He fired twice just to ensure the lowlife was dead-dead. 

He turned and walked back to the front door without concern. It was only a few seconds later that the screaming from the backroom began. That's when he pressed the green button and tossed it onto the sofa next to where Peewee had finally fallen.

He was long gone before the police arrived.

~~~

The next night, Jensen and Osric, a young Asian man with a black belt in multiple styles who also lived most of the time at the house, were returning to Bourbon after escorting a gaggle of drunk 20-somethings to their nearby car, when Officer Cassidy fell into step with them. Jensen was momentarily startled but Osric continued as if nothing had changed.

"How's business?" Cassidy asked.

Osric shrugged. "Could be less busy; it could also be too busy; better to have it not busy at all." He was full of gems like that. Jensen tried not to laugh.

Cassidy nodded. "Same." They walked about half a block before she spoke again. "Listen, homicide is going to start inviting N.O.C. in. Just thought you should know."

Jensen quirked an eyebrow. "Why?"

"You heard about the increasing gang violence, right?"

Osric and Jensen nodded.

"That's not all that's been going on. There's a theory someone's behind it all."

"Like a...criminal mastermind?" Jensen asked.

"Like a vigilante," Osric corrected.

"Exactly," she said. "They can't be sure. So far there's no real evidence, just a theory.  _ And _ keep it to yourselves, not everyone in the department knows."

"You think there's a leak?" Osric asked.

"We know there's at least one. Someone's been slipping info to Fallone," she said.

Jensen felt like he was in a bad movie. Not to mention sick to his stomach. 

"Got it," Osric nodded. "I'll let Sentinel know."

She nodded before crossing the street. However, out of the corner of his eye, Jensen noticed the way Cassidy's hand brushed lightly against Osric's. Had they been doing that all along and he was just too caught up in his own thoughts to notice?

Osric must have caught his look because he said, "The N.O.P.D. has a no fraternization rule."

Jensen nodded to show understanding. He wondered what they would think about fraternizing with mobsters.

~~~

"So let me get this straight, you're telling me these Devils just showed up at Wayne's and massacred them all? They didn't even get a shot off?" Gianni demanded as he paced in front of Vince, who was sitting in his office chair in a downtown warehouse fronting as an import/export business.

Vince nodded. "That's what my N.O.P.D. guy says." He glanced at Jimmy Fingers, who was lurking near the window, to verify.

Jimmy Fingers nodded in anxious agreement.

"Let me guess, it never occurred to you to up the security after the meth lab incident?" Gianni seethed. He glowered at Vince.

Gianni was red in the face again. It was happening more and more often these days. First there had been the loss of the meth lab, then the tribute from the gambling establishments had been stolen en route, now the dealer responsible for distributing the product to the street dealers had been killed. Things were not going well for Gianni and New York was taking notice. J.T. was going to have to accompany Ray to New York to deliver the Valenti tribute next week.

Vince glared accusingly at Jimmy.

"Don't look at him. Look at me. I'm the boss; you are the worm I can squish at any time," Gianni said.

Vince blanched.

J.T. leaned against the wall in the corner watching the whole scene play out. He already knew how it was going to end. At this point it wasn't even interesting. Besides he had other things on his mind. His whole afternoon with Jensen the day before had left him angry, though not at Jensen. He was angry at himself for putting Jensen in this dangerous position. He should have left it at a one night stand and left Jensen alone, but he'd kept drifting back like a moth to a flame, unable to help himself. Jensen had become his one escape, his one bit of happiness.

"Well, Moose, these Blood Devils need to be handled then. Nobody interferes with my business." 

J.T. tuned back in at the use of his moniker. "All of them, Sir? Taking care of an entire street gang might stir up some attention."

Gianni huffed. 

J.T. could see him fighting not to smile.

"Fine, get Ray to arrange for a truce. You know what I mean."

J.T. nodded. He knew. Money talked. Ray would arrange for The Devils to be bought just like he'd done with The First Knights.

"Good. And now, take this worm for a drive. I want to talk to Jimmy here."

"What? Wait!" Vince's eyes went wide.

"Get him outta my sight."

Inwardly, J.T. sighed. So it went. Tomorrow Jimmy would be running Vince's business. 

He grabbed Vince's bicep and gripped it so tightly Vince stopped struggling and went resignedly quiet just like they all did. "C'mon. Let's go for a drive."

 

#  Chapter 6

 

Danni was having a particularly good day at her table in Jackson Square. Rather than take a break, she'd sent Jensen to Central Grocery to pick up some Muffulettas. As he passed Antoine's, he glance inside and saw Sam embrace a pudgy older man in a suit with hands covered in rings. Sam was wearing a tweed jacket and blue jeans. He realized all of a sudden that every time he saw Sam in New Orleans, he was wearing or carrying a jacket. Then it occurred to him why. He frowned and missed a step.

Right then Sam looked up. His smile disappeared.

Jensen hurried down the street toward Central Grocery and tried to ignore his beating heart or the ache there. He was so frustrated with the whole situation. They were in the same city, crossing paths here and there. Yet, Sam had stubbornly cut him off. And he got it. He really did. Sam was everything he should stay away from, should not want, should hate.

But something kept his mind and heart drifting back to the man he'd spent time with off and on for the last two years. That man was so different from the one he was suddenly presented with. He just couldn't reconcile it in his heart.

He absently ordered the sandwiches and a couple of drinks. While he was standing in line, waiting for his order, he glanced out of the window and saw Sam. He was smoking a cigarette and leaning against a lamp post across from the store. Jensen couldn't read his expression thanks to his aviators, but he felt a shiver run through him.

Sam cocked his head back the way Jensen had come.

Jensen sucked in a breath. His heart started thumping in his chest so hard he thought it might pop right out.

A few minutes later, Jensen had his order in a small paper bag and was out on the sidewalk. Sam was down the street leaning on another lamp post.

This was such a bad idea.

He tried to walk casually toward Sam. When he got close, Sam disappeared between two buildings. Jensen only hesitated a few seconds when he got to the small corridor between the two buildings, but curiosity and want pushed him onward toward temptation.

Sam wasn't anywhere in the corridor, but he stood in a shaded stone nook on the left. He dropped his cigarette and rubbed it out with his shoe. He looked as good as ever.

"What are you still doing here, Jensen?"

"What? No, 'hi, Jensen, it's good to see you again'?" Jensen retorted, shifting to lean on the wall.

"Hi, Jensen, why am I seeing you in New Orleans again?" Sam said with a smirk.

"I  _ told _ you -- you can't tell me what to do."

Sam stepped close. "I remember when you liked me to tell you what to do," he said low and husky.

Jensen cleared his throat as he felt himself go weak at the thought. "That's when I wanted to do it," Jensen replied just as huskily. He wanted to reach out and brush Sam's hair out of his eyes, but he thought he might not be able to stop the touching if he did.

Sam looked around as if he was checking to be sure they were alone. 

Jensen glanced around too as if it were contagious.

Sam reached out with one hand and gently ran it down one of Jensen's cheeks and cupped his jaw. His face ran through an array of emotions like Jensen almost never saw him do. He leaned in and let his mouth just brush Jensen's lips like a ghost. Jensen chased the kiss meeting Sam's mouth in a series of caresses like they never did.

"I...don't anything to happen to you. It would...I...I hate the idea of a world without you," Sam whispered against Jensen's mouth.

Jensen's voice escaped him. The only way he could answer was pull Sam in with his free hand and kiss him hard. For a few moments he got caught up in the touch of their lips, the way their tongues brushed and played. As always, it was so easy to forget all of his problems when Sam's mouth was on him.

Until Sam let go and stepped back, dropping his hand.

"Be safe, Jensen," Sam said before disappearing down another path toward the Riverwalk.

Jensen leaned against the wall and tried to catch his breath. How could Sam kiss him breathless and just walk away?

~~~

J.T. rested his arms against the railing and stared into the murky waters of the Mississippi. Sometimes he thought he understood her. The Mississippi River was often overlooked in the way people and things that are always there are. Her dangerous side is often forgotten until it's too late. She's dark and untameable; alive, yet unfeeling.

He thought sometimes he could empathize. 

Where Jensen was concerned, J.T. knew better. It was stupidly risky to keep seeing Jensen, publicly or privately. Every encounter brought the possibility of being caught that much closer. He, more than anyone, knew Fallone's methods, knew Fallone randomly had his people in his own organization followed. It kept people in line if they never knew when they might be watched. However, most of the time, J.T. knew who and when before anyone else.

He was young compared to most in Fallone's contingent but he'd earned Fallone's trust early. He made himself not just useful but indispensable, and until he met Jensen, he'd never risked his precarious position. This is what he’d wanted since he was 8 years old. It had taken him over 20 years to get here and for some reason he didn't understand, he kept risking it all for Jensen.

J.T. had been truthful when he'd told Jensen he couldn't bear a world without him. It was the closest he'd ever come to loving anyone other than his parents. And that bothered him more than he cared to admit even to himself.

 

#  Chapter 7

 

Stephen had dreamed of joining the army after high school but gave up that dream to take care of his mother after his father died. Instead he’d gone to the University of New Orleans for a degree in Library Science. Now he was living the true superhero lifestyle -- librarian by day, superhero by night -- and no time for a girlfriend. 

This was something Jensen thought was a shame since Stephen was an attractive man. Most women liked that toned, muscled type and many liked the sensitive bookworm who was also toned and muscled. Heck, Jensen liked that type too. Well, he liked the toned and muscled type. He wasn't sure what his type was anymore other than that. Sam had screwed up all of his preconceived assumptions on that subject.

The reason behind Stephen's bachelorhood became much more evident the night of the library fundraiser. Jensen had never seen their fearless leader so flustered as when Osric escorted Felicia into the hall. She was absolutely beautiful in the emerald dress Danni had chosen for her with her short hair styled in delicate curls. Jensen was surprised Danni had managed to get the consummate tomboy into a dress at all, but it was clearly worth every painful second of coaxing and begging and demanding. If women were at all his type, he'd be flustered too.

At Jensen's "wow," Danni turned to him smugly and said, "Like I said, 'shiny.'"

Jensen shook his head and smiled fondly at her. Danni was his date for the evening. Her boyfriend was serving a tour overseas but was jealous enough that he'd prefer her attending anything with a gay companion rather than either Stephen or Osric or one of the other part-timers. Otherwise, she wouldn't have come anyway because officially she wasn't invited.

The library function was one of the few where they were all in public together at the same time outside of uniform. Stephen, of course, was part of the planning committee and Felicia had a standing invitation to library events thanks to the freelance work she occasionally did pro bono on their computer system -- she said their system administrators and network staff were morons, but Jensen thought anyone working in computers, including Bill Gates, was probably a moron compared to her.  By unspoken agreement, Osric usually accompanied Felicia anywhere she needed a date. After the encounter with Cassidy the other day, he now understood why.

Felicia tried to smooth her dress and Danni smacked her hands away. "You look perfect. Stop fidgeting."

"I look stupid," Felicia grumbled.

"You look gorgeous. Don't you think so, Stephen?" Jensen prodded.

Danni smiled conspiratorially at him. Obviously she had picked up on the crush as well.

Stephen sputtered, "Ab-absolutely. Excuse me, I have to check on...something over there." He turned and headed toward the table setup for donations.

Danni smirked at Jensen. "Oh, Jensen, speaking of crushes-"

"Who was speaking of crushes?" Felicia perked up.

"No one," Jensen quickly said sure who Danni was alluding to.

"No, Jensen, you're gonna want to hear this," Danni said.

Jensen folded his arms across his chest and gave her his best  _ I-doubt-it _ look.

"I saw the guest list," Danni said.

Jensen felt the pit in his stomach forming again.

"Fallone is on it," she said.

"He's a big contributor to area charities." Osric nodded.

"Probably thinks it makes up for all of evil crap he does," Felicia added.

"Alleged evil crap he does," Danni said sarcastically.

Jensen's brain was still wrapping around the possibility of seeing Sam again and this time in his natural habitat. He didn't think he could handle that.

"I didn't see anyone in his entourage named Sam though," Danni assured him.

Jensen let out a breath he didn't know he was holding. Finally something was going his way.

He promptly forgot about his trouble as the chairwoman of the library's board, the mayor, and his wife approached him. In fact, the next hour was spent meeting and greeting too many people whose names he'd never remember.  He was thankful Danni stayed at his side so he had someone else to help charm those with no sense of humor or personality.

Jensen had seen pictures of Gianni Fallone in the society pages of  _ The Times-Picayune _ , of course. He recognized him accompanied by a different woman than the supposed mistress. This woman seemed bored while Fallone seemed to be eating up attention as business owners and other wealthy personalities made attempts at procuring or maintaining his favor. Better to be on the good side of the local mob than not, Jensen supposed.

What he wasn't prepared for was seeing Sam a few steps back, talking with someone who was clearly part of Fallone's entourage. He stopped in his tracks. Danni followed his gaze and sucked in a breath.

"Oh, man," she said eloquently. "I swear, Jensen, I didn't see him on the list."

Jensen nodded feeling as if he was seeing a ghost.

Fallone's lady friend noticed Jensen and smiled widely. Jensen flinched. She made a beeline for him and the man talking to Sam broke away to follow.

"Hello," he said, putting on a smiling facade. He held out his hand.

"Hello," she said cheerfully, taking his hand and holding it a touch too long. "I love love love your books." She sounded so insincere he doubted she'd read even one of his books...or any books.  

"Thank you," he played along. 

"Hi, I'm Danni." Danni held out her hand to make the woman let go of Jensen's. He mentally thanked her and promised to buy her something shiny later.

"Renata," Fallone's date said. "Fallone," she added expecting them to be impressed.

"Nice to meet you," Jensen said. "Are you enjoying yourself?"

"I am now," she smiled salaciously and tossed her dyed-blond hair over her fake tanned shoulder. Probably those were fake boobs almost falling out of her tiny red dress too.

Jensen inwardly grimaced and resisted backing away. 

"So which is your favorite?" Danni asked. 

Jensen noticed the man, her apparent bodyguard, lurking a few steps away. Maybe Sam was Fallone's bodyguard. That didn't seem so bad.

"Favorite?" Renata seemed confused.

"Book. Which of Jensen's books is your favorite?"

"Oh, uh, the second one?" Renata said.

Jensen nodded. "That's one of my favorites too."

Danni smirked at him and he could tell she was trying not to laugh.

"Well, well, well, this is the big time author, huh?" Fallone appeared next to his wife. Jensen assumed she was his wife. He supposed she could be his daughter.

Jensen didn't know how to reply to that other than to nod.

"Yes," Danni smiled disingenuously. Jensen thought the Fallone's probably didn't notice. "This here is Jensen Ackles, bestselling author, and you are?"

Jensen almost snorted at her question.

"Gianni Fallone." He sounded surprised.

"Good to meet you," Jensen said by rote. He couldn't remember how many times he'd said that tonight.

Fallone shook his hand. Jensen noted the strength in the handshake as if to prove he was the top dog alpha male.

"You too. I'm happy to see a fellow New Yorker down here, especially one with altruistic intentions," Fallone said.

"He's big on philanthorpy," Renata added.

Jensen inwardly winced at the mispronunciation. "Well, hopefully that means you'll be writing a big check to the Jefferson Parish Public Library system," Jensen suggested.

"Oh, well, I was going to anyway, but I'm gonna put in for that complete set of autographed books being auctioned off." He turned back toward Sam who was now lurking again with Renata's stalker. "My associate J.T. here is a big fan."

Jensen tried to hide his surprise. He wasn't sure what he was more surprised about. Sam not being Sam or the fact that Sam -- J.T. read his books.

"He has all of them, don't you?" Fallone continued.

"Yeah, he's a reg-u-lar bookworm," Renata said sounding more bored with each remark.

"Yes, Sir," Sam -- J.T. replied. Jensen couldn't make out anything from his tone or his expression. The man standing a few feet away from him was a robot.

"Don't mind him," Fallone waved back at J.T. dismissively. "He's always like that when he's working."

Jensen nodded slowly as Fallone turned back to him. "Well...I hope you win them. Maybe you'll take -- J.T., is it? Take his love of my books as an example," he joked but even he thought it sounded hollow.

"Maybe." Fallone chuckled. He slapped Jensen on the arm a few times. "Well, I see someone I need to speak with. Enjoy your visit." He started to walk away but when Renata didn't follow right away, he said, "Renata." It was a command, not a question.

Renata gave Jensen one last suggestive smile and slid her arm through her husband's.

Once they were out of hearing range, Danni turned to Jensen and whispered, " _ That's _ your big gay crush?"

Jensen shook his head. "No, I don't know that man. They look alike but that's not my Sam." Jensen understood J.T.'s behavior. J.T. couldn't let anything show even if the dead expression was breaking Jensen's heart. This was what his Sam warned him about in a way, why they needed to end things.

 

#  Chapter 8

 

Two mornings later, Jensen was watching the news about a suspected arson in a warehouse downtown when the girls approached him. He muted the television and looked up at them expectantly.

"So do you want to know what we found?" Danni asked.

"What  _ we _ found?" Felicia repeated.

"Okay, what Felicia found, but it was my idea."

"What are you talking about?" Jensen asked.

"I did a little research on your friend," Felicia said.

"My 'friend'?" Jensen said.

"You know who I mean," she said.

He folded his arms across his chest and frowned at them.

They took it as a sign to continue. "So, J.T. Padalecki-" Felicia started.

"Pada-what?" Jensen asked.

"I got his name off the guest list. Padalecki, it's Polish," Danni said.

"I figured," Jensen said.

"He's been working for Fallone since he was 16-" Felicia picked up.

"How do you know this?" Jensen asked.

"I have a...friend who works for the F.B.I.'s mafia taskforce. They try to figure out the organization structure," Felicia said.

"I see." Jensen sighed. "You know, I don't think I want to know."

"Come on, Jensen," Danni said. "Aren't you the least bit interested.

"If he'd wanted me to know, he would have told me. Now, I'm not sure it's a good idea at all."

The girls frowned at him looking disappointed.

"He's with the mob for Christ's sake! Don't you think that's a big red flag to stay away? Not to mention he  _ told _ me to stay away!"

Danni looked skeptical. "What were his words specifically?"

Jensen glared at her. "We are not going to psychoanalyze all of my conversations with Sam-  _ J.T. _ "

Danni huffed in annoyance.

"We're not saying you should get back together with him- or stay with him- or whatever you'd be doing." Felicia glared at Danni too. "We just think you should be informed.

Jensen threw his hands up in the air and plopped down in a chair. "Fine!"

Danni smiled triumphantly.

"Okay, so, as far as my friend knows, J.T.'s -- his real name's Jared, by the way -- J.T.'s been with Fallone for 14 years. Before that though…" She reached in her back pocket and pulled out a printout which she shoved at Jensen.

Jensen took the paper and looked it over. The archived news story was simply titled "Local Businessman Murdered." Two photographs accompanied the story -- one a headshot of a man resembling an older J.T.; the other a lost-looking 8-year-old J.T. holding his mother's hand, JFK Jr.-esque grave side. Jensen looked up questioningly.

"The murder was never solved," Felicia said.

Jensen felt sorry for the little kid but he didn't see the point. "And?"

"My friend says it was probably a mob hit. His mother was the daughter of a mid-level Made Man in New York and his father was probably from the Philadelphia mob. His dad moved to New York to work for his father-in-law. The F.B.I. thinks he might have made it to a capo close to the boss, but he was murdered and no one knows by who...for sure."

Jensen's eyes narrowed. "What do you mean for sure?"

"Rumor has it Fallone might have been behind it," Danni said.

Jensen frowned. That made even less sense than Sam - J.T. - in the mob. "I don't get it."

Both girls stared at him as if waiting for something.

"Why would he work for the man who killed his father?" Jensen asked.

"That is such a good question," Danni said. "Too bad we don't know anyone who could find out."

Jensen shook his head. "Uh-uh. No. It's over. Fini."

They continued to stare at him. Mostly they looked like they didn't believe him.

"Besides, I promised not to ask any questions and he told me even if I did, he wouldn't answer them." Jensen looked at Danni. "You saw him. Did he look like he'd be forthcoming?"

"Maybe if it was just you…," She said, twirling a her hair around a finger and trying to look innocent.

~~~

And that's how two days later Jensen ended up in the La Mirage with a mouth around his dick.

Later, after they'd exchanged an assortment of other pleasantries, J.T.'s head rested on Jensen's chest over his heart and Jensen played with his longish hair absently. He seemed to be clinging to Jensen as if he'd disappear if J.T. let go. He looked so young and lost compared to all of the other times Jensen had seen him.

After a while of just touching, J.T. said, "As much as I love-" He cleared his throat. "These liaisons with you, we have to stop."

"You keep saying that…"

"Jensen," J.T. sighed. "This is absolutely the wrong time to be doing this. Gianni's having trouble with his businesses. Everything's going to shit, New York's unhappy, and he's on edge."

"What do you mean 'everything's going to shit'?" Jensen ran his hand through J.T.'s hair hoping to lull him into talking about things he'd kept pent up.

J.T. stiffened. "You know I can't talk about any of that." He sat up.

"Wait, don't go," Jensen pleaded.

J.T. looked apologetic. "I've already been gone too long. If I keep disappearing for long periods, he'll get suspicious."

"And you never have time for yourself?"

J.T. swallowed. "You've gotten all my 'me' time the last two years, Jensen."

Jensen felt his heart warm at that admission. "I- Really?"

J.T. nodded as he pulled himself off the bed. He headed to the bathroom to wash up. "There are family men and then there are men like me. Men like me don't have distractions; we can't afford to get close to anyone because they might not be around next year."

Jensen kept quiet, hoping J.T. would say more. Meanwhile he quietly grabbed his pants and pulled out the small chip from his wallet. Keeping an ear out for the sink faucet to turn off, he swiped J.T.'s phone off the hotel table and popped the back open. He inserted the tracker exactly the way Felicia had showed him. The whole while he was shaking from fear of being discovered.

He heard the faucet turn off and dropped the phone back on the table before quickly grabbing his jeans off the floor.

J.T. padded out of the bathroom with his nose crinkled. "I didn't really look around this place last time. These no-tell-motels leave a lot to be desired."

"I don't know, my desires were pretty fulfilled," Jensen replied.

J.T. leered, "Glad I could be of service."

"Me too." Jensen sauntered over and gave him a wanton kiss.

J.T. fell into it, hands wrapping around him, and for a while the only sound in the room was their wet kisses. Finally, J.T. stepped back with an apologetic shake of his head. "If we keep that up, I'll never get back."

Jensen wanted to say that he was fine with that, but he knew better. He was J.T.'s dirty little secret, which was saying something since J.T. was full of dirtier, bigger secrets.

~~~

"You didn't ask him?" Danni whined from across the bar in the kitchen.

Jensen took a long drink of his gin and tonic. "It didn't come up."

"But you put the chip in?" Felicia asked from where she was sitting on a nearby counter.

"So...you bugged a mobster." Osric didn't look up from the vegetables he was dicing on the cutting board next to the stove. "And you think that was a good idea?"

Felicia bit into her bottom lip and shrugged.

"We thought it'd be good just in case," Danni said sounding unsure.

"In case of?" Osric asked.

Danni shrugged. "Just in case."

"And you went along with this?" Osric turned a questioning look at Jensen.

Jensen felt far more unsure than Danni and Felicia looked all of a sudden. "Peer pressure?"

Osric shook his head and went back to chopping the ingredients for his beef and vegetable stew.

Jensen's wild imagination began spinning out of control with all the things that could happen to J.T. because he was stupid. He let his head fall to the counter.

 

#  Chapter 9

 

J.T. waited patiently at the door to Gianni Fallone's office. He pulled out the envelope in his breast pocket as Gianni waved him in.

"That the Bernard payment?" Gianni asked as he held out his hand.

J.T. nodded and handed it to him. "Yes, sir."

"Any trouble?"

J.T. shook his head. "Same as usual. He's happy to have someone looking out for him." In other words, Bernard was happy Gianni's boys weren't paying him a more violent visit and he wanted to keep it that way.

Gianni nodded. "Good, good."

"If that's all, sir, I have to check on Jimmy Fingers. He's still in the hospital after the warehouse fire." 

The import/export front had burned down several nights before and Jimmy Fingers had barely made it out with just smoke inhalation damage to his lungs. Whoever started the fire had helped the man out but Jimmy hadn't seen who it was. The current working theory among Gianni's men was whoever set the fire wanted to be sure Gianni knew someone was out for him. Up until now, all of the troubles could have been bad timing and coincidence but now Gianni knew for sure.

"Actually, I wanted to ask you something. Sit down." The mob boss gestured to the two leather chairs across from his desk.

"Yes, sir." J.T. sat. He really preferred to stand in the corner and watch when they were indoors. "What do you need?" 

Gianni turned the volume of the classical music floating from the surround sound stereo. "Did you know that writer guy is part of that ridiculous band of costumed freaks?"

J.T. called on all his experience not to react other than to nod. "Morgan told me right after he got here."

"Why wasn't I informed?"

"We keep an eye on them and they seem pretty impotent. I felt you didn't need to know until they become a problem."

Gianni frowned, studying him.

J.T. fought the urge to fidget like he hadn't done since he was a teenager.

"John said he saw you at the La Mirage with the guy." His voice was quiet and deadly.

"What? Which John?" J.T. dodged.

"Don't 'which John' me. Answer the question, J.T." It wasn't a suggestion.

"I don't know what John saw, but I was at the La Mirage to scratch an itch. Maybe he was too; maybe he's got some kinks the redhead won't do." It technically wasn't a lie.

Gianni's eyes narrowed and he looked like he was thinking about it. Finally, he shook his head. "John's an idiot. Couldn't find his own balls in an emergency. Probably didn't know what he was looking at, right?"

J.T. shrugged. "Right."

"So, who was she?" Gianni leered.

"Who?"

"Your itch scratcher."

J.T. shrugged again. "I already forgot her name. She was a momentary distraction." He had a really bad feeling in the pit of his stomach. He was used to be paranoid but his spider sense was tingling away.

Gianni nodded thoughtfully. "Alright then, go check on Jimmy. Bring him a card from me."

"Yes, sir." J.T. stood and walked to the door. 

In the hall, he nodded at Genevieve as he walked to the front door. Meanwhile, he pulled out his phone and pretended to be checking messages. He managed to text 9-1-1 before the crack to the back of his head and things went black.

~~~

"Look, Cassidy, something is wrong." Jensen fought to keep his voice even. "He would never have texted me this and then not respond when I tried to text or call back."

Standing outside of Cafe Du Monde on Decatur, the blond officer glared at him over her paper cup of coffee. "Why are you even getting text from Padalecki? Do you know who he is?" She gave Osric a  _ What-are-you-involved-in? _ look. 

Osric gave her an innocent look in response. 

She held up her hand. "Wait! Don't tell me! It's better I don't know."

"We think we know where he is, but it's in the Ninth Ward," Felicia said.

"And? You do know this is the mob you're butting your noses into, right?" Cassidy said.

"That's why we came to you," Jensen said. 

"The rules say we're glorified crossing guards and neighborhood watch," Stephen said. "Morgan told us to stay out of the Ninth Ward."

Cassidy snorted at the mention of her patrol partner. "Look, there's nothing we can do until he's missing for 24 hours."

"Oh, come on, Cass," Osric said. "You know that no one's going to look for him even if you wait a day."

"And by then he could be…'disappeared'," Danni said. "Sorry, Jensen." 

Cassidy shrugged, "Well, what do you expect me to do?"

"Send a patrol to this address." Felicia handed her a crinkled piece of paper with an address scribbled on it.

Cassidy took the paper, looked it over and slid it into her pocket. "I'll see what I can do, but don't expect too much."

When Jensen looked like he might argue, Cassidy added, "And y'all stay away from that address. You hear me?" She looked around the group, waiting for them all to agree. 

One by one they nodded, but behind her back, they shared a look that said, "To hell with that."

 

#  Chapter 10

 

J.T. Padalecki, lovingly known by his mother as Jared, led an oblivious, happy childhood in New York until he was eight. He hadn't understood at the time why his father had been killed. It was only later he discovered the family diner was actually a front for a bookkeeping business and a meeting place for men of questionable backgrounds. 

He learned from his uncles who started him running errands at twelve. When he was thirteen, his favorite uncle started taking him hunting upstate. Later, J.T. would be struck by the idea that he'd been groomed to be a serial killer, starting with animals and graduating to people at sixteen. Certainly his experience with his uncle taught him to kill without emotion.

It was on his mother's death bed at fifteen that he swore vengeance for his father's death. It's taken him almost fifteen years.

J.T. had prepared for this. He'd been preparing since Gianni made him his enforcer. J.T. knows better than anyone what could and would happen.

Not to mention he'd trained the two seedy thugs Gianni called in to conduct the hands on portions of the affair. He had a low opinion of their skills and methods. They were poor students and every bit the mob thug stereotype, no finesse. There were ways of making people tell you what you wanted without straight-forward brutality. Most of the time, it was the fear of what might be done rather than the actual action itself.

The thing was: J.T. wasn't afraid. 

There was very little he was afraid of because he's seen it all. Every thing they could do to him, he'd watched happen to someone else. He had prepared for this.

Not to mention, Gianni Fallone could not kill him. Not without permission. And Joe Valenti had a soft spot for J.T.'s mother and by proxy J.T. Joe had ensured J.T. became a Made Man by the time he was 25, a rarity among most Families. He was a legacy and he'd sworn an oath to Joe, not Gianni. So, Gianni could torture him all he wanted, but he couldn't kill him without permission. He had time to consider his options or prepare for the inevitable.

His head pounded like a he'd been hit with a mack truck or a crowbar, which was probably what someone had used. 

They had strung him up by his hands with a rope run through a hook on a rafter. His bare feet almost didn't touch the floor, which said something about how high the ceilings were in the rundown, abandoned house in a nearly deserted area of the edge of New Orleans proper. Some areas still hadn't come back since the hurricane and it made finding locations for this sort of sordid business easier.

They'd stripped him out of his shirt and shoes, but left his pants, though he doubted it was for his dignity. His bare flesh gave them easier access to punish him.

The pain had started before the questions. Pain in his shoulders, his wrists, his arms, stretching down his spine as he was stretched. It was only going to get worse. It was when the pain stopped that he had to worry. As long as there was pain, he was alive.

Gianni asked him a few times if he'd been feeding information to "those costumed freaks." He was sure that's what J.T. had been doing at La Mirage, conspiring against him. 

J.T. would be amused by the misinterpretation if he wasn't distracted by pain. 

Gianni had also demanded to know who J.T. had been texting "9-1-1" to. Fortunately, J.T. had Jensen in his phone as "Sam" and the number masked through an umbrella number. Gianni wasn't tech savvy enough to figure that out.

He had been honest in answering the first question if not the second, but Gianni wasn't accepting "No" and "No one." 

Every time he gave an answer Gianni didn't like, one of the thugs would punch him in a different spot. With every punch, he gritted his teeth, clenched his jaw and tried to hold in any signs of pain. It wasn't easy and he didn't always succeed. Certainly not when they hit him with a 2x4 right where his kidney had been functioning oblivious to the rest of his body's distress.

It wasn't until Gianni demanded to know if one or more of the N.O.C. was responsible for the arsons, robberies, and murders affecting his business that J.T. felt fear.

Panting through escaped tears and coughed up answers, J.T. shook his head and regretted it immediately. His vision filled with silver and white dots and consciousness seemed fleeting.

"I'm gonna pick up every one of them and find out which one it is," Gianni declared. "You can't protect them."

J.T. couldn't catch his breath. There was a sharp pain in his chest. He tried to breath shallowly.

His one weakness. Exactly what he was afraid of. Jensen in danger. He could take anything Gianni threw at him but that.

"Morgan tells me that writer showed up right before all the trouble. He's the one I'll start with."

"I...did it," J.T. forced out. His voice barely a whisper.

"What?" Gianni sounded genuinely surprised.

"It was me. All of it." His voice was hoarse. Every word was a struggle.

Gianni turned red in the face. He looked like he couldn't decide what to say first. "You little shit!"

J.T. smiled crookedly, looking like something out of a Tarantino movie with his bloody mouth, wild, blackened eyes, and black and blue body.

"I took you under my wing, treated you like a son after your father died," Gianni sounded genuinely hurt.

"After you had him killed, you mean."

"Boss, you want I should shut him up," Thug Number One asked.

Gianni waved him off. "I never! Your father was a Made Man. I would never!"

"No, you had Frank do it."

Gianni's eyes narrowed. "I don't know where you heard such nonsense-"

"Frank, when Joe sent down the hit on him." In New York, Fallone was just an underboss, which meant his soldiers really worked for Joe Valenti, especially the Made Men -- The Family first always.

Gianni stopped to stare at him as if trying to make a decision. "You asshole, I trusted you."

"Like my dad trusted you?" J.T. coughed again and tasted fresh blood in the back of his throat.  _ Well, fuck. _

Gianni grabbed a pair of pliers and handed them to Thug Number Two. Thug Number Two couldn't get to J.T.'s fingers without risking J.T. getting loose from his bonds. So he grabbed one of J.T.'s feet. 

Panic fuelled a wave of adrenaline and J.T. fought hard, kicking at his attacker, struggling to break his hold, but Thug Number One kicked him in the back of his free knee. While he was crying out over that, the other one gripped his big toe in the pliers and snapped it in an unnatural direction.

J.T. screamed.

~~~

The black SUV parked down the block. Osric pointed a gadget at each house as Felicia, dressed in her own black uniform, watched the output on her tablet. 

"No...no...no...There! That's the one!" Felicia said.

Jensen thought it was an obvious choice since it looked ready to fall down but had two Lincoln Town cars in the driveway.

"How do you know?" Danni asked leaning over Felicia's shoulder.

Felicia pointed at the human shaped rainbow shapes on her screen. "Too many people in a building they don't belong in."

"How many are we talking about?" Stephen asked.

"One each at the front and back doors and four in the large room in the middle," Felicia said.

"How are we gonna get in?" Jensen asked, gripping Stephen's headrest from the backseat. This whole thing seemed like the best plan an hour ago when they were gearing up at the house. Now that they were here, the idea that one or all of them could get killed was very real. And what if J.T. wasn't in trouble and they were walking into something else very, very bad? What if he caught J.T. in the act of doing something very, very bad? He didn't think he could handle either, but he didn't think he could live with himself if something very, very bad happened to J.T. either. Thoughts in his head were spinning out of control in his head.

"Hey, it's okay, right?" Stephen awkwardly turned around to face Jensen. "We're just going to scout it out first, okay?"

Had Jensen said some of that out loud?  _ Oops. _ He nodded slowly still trying to wrap his mind around how he got here. This was not at all what he thought he'd be experiencing when he decided to come to New Orleans to play superhero.

"Red and Dragon, check the windows on the left, I'll check the right," Stephen said.

"Hey, what about me?" Felicia demanded.

"I want to go," Jensen stated.

Stephen shook his head and told Felicia, "I- We need you to stay in the car and monitor the situation." To Jensen, he said, "And I don't think that's a good idea. You're distracted."

"Yeah, by what's in there!" Jensen pointed at the house in question.

"I'm not sitting in the car. I'm as much a bad-ass as Red," Felicia said.

"It's true," Danni nodded.

Stephen glared at Danni. "Fine, Dex can come, but only in a look-out capacity."

"Right," Felicia said with a hint of insincerity.

"You need back up," Osric told Stephen. "Take them both with you...At least then you'll know where they are."

Stephen hesitated, then nodded. "Alright, you two with me. And don't  _ do _ anything without checking with me first."

"Right," Felicia and Jensen both said. Jensen had a feeling Felicia was going to listen as much as he was, especially if J.T. was in danger. If J.T. needed help, all bets were off.

Stephen drove the car around the corner and they snuck back, winding their way through the backyards and alleyways. They split into two groups and approached the house from two different sides, careful not to let the guards at the front and back see them.

Stephen hauled himself over the fence and dropped quietly onto the driveway between houses. Felicia and Jensen quickly followed. Felicia pulled her tablet out of her backpack and handed Jensen the scanner. Stephen crouched beneath each window and carefully stretched up to peek in. However, he saw no one of interest, only empty rooms and a kitchen. Jensen could have told him that from what he saw looking over Felicia's shoulder. The heat signatures were further into the building.

An agonized scream -- that was the only way to describe it -- wrenched through the near silence of the early evening. 

Three of the heat signatures had merged into a blob.

Jensen shoved the scanner into Felicia's hands. He wasn't waiting any more. He started to run to the front and was yanked backward with a hand over his mouth. He struggled against Stephen's hold. 

Felicia stepped into view and put her finger to her mouth. 

He was only let go when he stopped struggling. He turned to glare at Stephen. 

Stephen put his finger to his mouth and then gestured toward the back of the house. He used signals to indicate he was going to slip back there deal with the guard and that they should wait along the house wall.

Jensen didn't want to wait around the corner while Stephen hopefully overpowered the possibly armed guard. Felicia seemed insistent, though she handed him a taser. And really how effective was a taser going to be against a bullet? Still he clutched it to his chest as a lifeline.

Just before he slipped around the corner to the back of the house, Stephen removed his mask -- and really, what did it matter at this point? They were way beyond neighborhood watch and crime prevention. 

Jensen heard him say, "Hey, man, have you seen a dog? He's about-"

"Scram!" A different voice.

"But my dog-"

Sounds of a scuffle. Endless seconds for Jensen's mind to go into overdrive. He didn't even feel guilty about his lack of worry over Stephen's safety.

A soft thud. 

Stephen stepped into view and whispered, "Let's go." Apparently all of those war games he and Osric put them through in the back of the plantation house HQ were paying off.

The three of them crept into the house, careful not to make too much noise walking on the loose floorboards.

Though at the time it felt like every second was an hour, much later Jensen was surprised at how quickly everything happened once they entered the house. He'd attended a lecture once on the reality of violence related to fiction, and he was surprised to discover most fights whether with weapons or hand-to-hand were over after one or two punches or similar.

Just outside the room with the four men inside, Jensen heard Fallone say, "I'm gonna take all my pain and suffering out on you one bone at a time."

Jensen tensed and Felicia dug her nails into his arm -- not that he felt it through the layers.

A second later there was a crash and a huge commotion including shouting and threats. They ran in the room and dove into the chaos. 

One of the thugs had pulled a gun and Danni hit him with a roundhouse kick. The thug stumbled back, nearly dropping the gun. Osric and Stephen grappled with the other thug who had a knife and a hammer. Jensen didn't want to know what the hammer was for.

He was horrified to see the almost unrecognizable and barely cognizant state J.T. was in. 

"Hunter, look out!" Felicia pointed at Fallone just as he picked up a gun from a nearby table.

"You freaks!" Fallone cried as he pointed the gun at Stephen.

Jensen (A.K.A. Hunter) aimed the taser and triggered the electroshock weapon. Two small dart-like electrodes shot out of the non-lethal gun. 

Fallone shook with the shock of the electric current. He wet himself as he fell clutching at the wires still attached to him.

Felicia ran over and kicked the gun away from him.

Jensen blinked and looked around. 

By then, Danni was sitting on her thug, holding his arms behind him at an angle close to breaking. Stephen and Osric were tying up their's with his own tie.

Jensen dropped the taser and ran over to J.T. "Oh my God, J.T.! Help him!"

J.T. groaned in pain when Jensen touched him. Jensen wasn't even sure J.T. knew who he was.

"Come on, let's get him down," Stephen told him. "Dex, call 9-1-1."

Felicia picked up a cell phone she found on the floor and dialed.

Osric and Stephen untied the rope holding J.T. up while Jensen lowered him carefully to the ground. Danni kept an eye on the three downed men.

Before Felicia even got through to a 9-1-1 operator, the doors busted open and the room filled with men and women in blue windbreakers with yellow "F.B.I." letters on the back.

"Everybody freeze!" a man commanded.

Jensen fell to the ground under the weight of J.T.

"Everyone put your hands up!" the man continued.

~~~

The neighborhood was overrun by cars with flashing lights, unmarked black SUVs and sedans, and people in law enforcement uniforms and gear. The F.B.I.'s crime scene specialists were crawling all over the house. An ambulance had been backed up over the overgrown lawn nearly to the front door. 

Jensen watched from where he stood on the driveway trying to explain what exactly he and the others were doing there to an Agent Howard. The paramedics had brought J.T. out 10 minutes earlier with Danni assisting, and Jensen was anxious to find out if he was okay. Inside the house, he'd overheard the paramedics express concern over moving J.T. due to possible internal bleeding. Truthfully they weren't sure about the extent of the damage.

"Please, can I- I need to go with him," Jensen told Special Agent Howard, ignoring the man's question about how they'd tracked the mobsters to this house in the first place.

Howard frowned and shook his head. "I don't think-."

"Look, Any more questions, you'll know where to find me."

The agent looked sceptical. "I can drive you when we're finished."

"No, you don't understand, I  _ have _ to go with him. I'm not going to answer any more questions until I know he's okay."

The agent frowned. 

"If it were you and your...whomever would you let anyone stop you?"

Howard finally looked like he could relate. "I'll send an agent to meet you there. We're going to have to discuss your involvement with Padalecki."

"Yeah, fine. Later." Jensen brushed him off and jogged to the ambulance where Danni had just climbed out and the paramedics were closing the doors. "Wait, I'm coming with you." 

The paramedics looked like they might argue but something behind Jensen caught their eye and before Jensen could turn around to see what it was, the older of the two paramedics said, "Okay,  get in, but stay out of the way."

Jensen climbed up and settled into the seat to the side. He grabbed J.T.'s hand and squeezed lightly to let him know Jensen was there.  He didn't get a response so he didn't know if J.T. was aware enough, but it still made him feel better. Just as the doors were closing, he looked up and saw Cassidy wearing an F.B.I. jacket and clearly scolding Osric.

As the ambulance pulled away from the chaos, Jensen closed his eyes and still holding J.T.'s hand, he began to make promises to the Powers That Be that if J.T. survived, well, there were all sorts of things he promised to do or not do…

 

#  Epilogue

 

The media all around the country and then around the English speaking world carried news of the fall of the New Orleans mafia. The stories were mixed with truth and rumor. However, most of them correctly gave credit to the New Orleans Collective, a Real-Life Superhero team, and the F.B.I. Sixty-one arrests, including moles in police departments across several Louisiana parishes, were made. The arrests ranged from low-level mafia soldiers to high level Made Men.

What the media didn't report and probably didn't know until the trials was that the F.B.I. had a mob turncoat, a former enforcer who told them every detail about the New Orleans contingent but refused to speak of the New York Family. The F.B.I. task force suspected the order to bring down the New Orleans contingent had in fact come from New York though they had no proof.

There was no mention of a bestselling author ever being present.

After undercover F.B.I. Special Agent Katie Cassidy personally helped to uncover several of the police moles, she was assigned as F.B.I. liaison to the N.O.C. much to her pleasure.

After the team received world-wide recognition, the Federal and State governments awarded them large amounts of grant money. Felicia and Stephen moved into the N.O.C. headquarters full-time to focus on upgrading the operations center and training and recruiting new members. They were surprised to discover they had a lot in common other than the N.O.C.

~~~  

Three months after the events in New Orleans, U.S. Marshals Mary Shannon and Marshal Mann were assigned two new entrants to WITSEC. They'd discovered a long time ago that no two cases were the same -- a Russian accountant whose deal included a boob job; a 10 year old kid whose drug lord father killed his mother and needed to be placed with another WITSEC family; an art smuggler who brought his wife and mistress into the program; a daughter of divorcing parents with shared custody whose successful mother refused to give up her life or her visitation rights. Every case was different and they handled them in stride.

~~~

Jensen squeezed J.T.'s hand as they sat in an office in Albuquerque waiting for the final paperwork they had to sign. He looked a much better than he had three months ago when Jensen found him in that house. J.T. had lost a kidney, had been lucky not to have his two broken ribs puncture his lungs, and would never walk without a limp again. He had lost twenty pounds and muscle tone in the Seattle hospital. 

But he was alive. And in Jensen's mind that was all that mattered.  

"It's not too late, Jensen," J.T. said, squeezing Jensen's hand in response.

"Too late for what?" Jensen pretended they hadn't had this conversation fifty times already.

"You don't have to do this."

"This? You mean, stay with you?"

J.T. nodded. "You can still go home."

"You know, you have got to stop telling me that. It hasn't worked up to now and it's not going to work any time soon."

"But your friends, your family…"

"I'm right where I want to be, you stubborn mule."

"Moose," J.T. said.

"What?" 

"Stubborn moose."

Jensen rolled his eyes with a small smile. It was good to hear J.T. joke. It seemed like the smiles and laughter had been sadly lacking during the last few months. For the most part they'd either been self-deprecating or only for Jensen. "Either way, I'm not going anywhere you aren't."

"I don't understand you," J.T. said with a sigh.

"Why?"

"I. Am a bad man. You. Are a good person. Why would you want to be with me?"

"I don't believe you're a bad man; at least not any more."

J.T. quirked an eyebrow at him.

"I think you were the product of your environment and you did what you thought was best to get back at Fallone. You might have gone about it in a questionable way, but you did it the only way you'd been taught."

"And you think I'm someone different than that now?"

"I think you've been trying for a while to be someone else."

J.T. snorted. "You're naive, Jensen."

"I don't think so. I don't think you'd have been with me all this time, hiding this part of your life, if you didn't want to be something different, someone better."

J.T. looked surprised by Jensen's analysis. "Interesting theory, but that's all it is."

"You didn't kill that drug dealer's girlfriend."

"She was a victim."

"You saved that guy at the warehouse."

"He wasn't supposed to be there."

"I heard you tell Agent Howard how you confessed to the sabotage when Fallone threatened the N.O.C."

J.T. huffed. "I just didn't want those superhero wanna-bes caught in my vendetta."

"Those wanna-bes saved your ass."

J.T. sighed with resignation. "Fine."

~~~

"Okay, did the D.O.J. explain how this is going to work?" Marshal Mary Shannon asked.

"They went over the basics." Jensen nodded.

"You can't contact anyone from your previous life directly. All communication has to go through us," she said seriously.

Jensen started to open his mouth, but was interrupted by Marshal Marshall Mann (and weren't his parents cruel knowing life as a U.S. Marshal ran in the family?).

"We know the D.O.J. worked out a deal with you, Jensen, to let you keep publishing under your real name. As Mary said, all communication with your editor and publisher will go through our clearinghouse to ensure it can't be tracked back to where you are."

Jensen looked relieved and J.T. gave his hand a reassuring squeeze.

"We also recommend you get a part time job to help your cover," Marshal suggested.

Jensen nodded. He could do that. Something to keep busy and not be in J.T.'s hair all the time.

"In the meantime, we found a small deli looking for a waiter, for you J.T.," Mary said. "The D.O.J. said you expressed an interest in working in something like that."

Marshal flipped through the paperwork. "And it says here, you're looking to go to school."

J.T. nodded.

"You are?" Jensen blinked at him.

Mary and Marshal exchanged indecipherable looks.

"I never finished high school, you know. I'd like to get my GED and maybe take some classes at the college," J.T. said bashfully. It was a strange look for someone who was usually so confident and larger than life.

"That's great!" Jensen encouraged.

"Great. Well, Marshall here can help you get that all arranged. He's the biggest nerd I know," she said with fond sarcasm.

Marshall just shook his head. "She hasn't read anything longer than a case report since college."

Jensen relaxed listening to their banter. Everything was going to be okay. He knew how he felt about J.T., was pretty sure he knew how J.T. felt about him, though neither of them had said the words yet. Still, he knew they had a future. He knew J.T. was done with the violence too. He might not be sure of himself where that was concerned but Jensen was sure he could help J.T. find his way. He wasn't trying to change him, because trying to change someone who doesn't want to change never works. But he was willing to stand by J.T. as he struggled to find who he was without the mob or the violence or the danger. He knew it wasn't going to be easy, but nothing worth it ever was.

**Author's Note:**

> Note: Characters named after celebrities are merely that. This story was written for entertainment and no personal financial gain.
> 
> Any facts found in this story may be fake or based on reality. You decide.
> 
>  
> 
> **GLOSSARY**
> 
>  
> 
> D.O.J.: Department of Justice
> 
> GED: General Educational Development tests are a group of four subject tests which, when passed, provide certification that the test taker has United States or Canadian high school-level academic skills.
> 
> Made Man: In the American Mafia, a made man is a fully initiated member of the Mafia. To become "made", an associate first has to be sponsored by another made man. An inductee will be required to take the oath of Omertà, the mafia code of silence. After the induction ceremony the associate becomes a "made man".
> 
> Muffuletta: A traditional-style muffuletta sandwich consists of a muffuletta loaf split horizontally and covered with layers of marinated olive salad, mortadella, salami, mozzarella, ham, and provolone. Quarter, half, and full-sized muffulettas are sold
> 
> N.O.P.D. : New Orleans Police Department
> 
> Real Life Superhero: a person who dresses up in a superhero costume or mask in order to perform community service such as neighborhood watch, or in some cases vigilantism
> 
> WITSEC: a witness protection program administered by the United States Department of Justice and operated by the United States Marshals Service that is designed to protect threatened witnesses before, during, and after a trial.


End file.
